The Oddly Shaped Box – Module 5 Assignment
Jade stepped lightly on the attic ladder rungs. She tried to keep the loud creaking noises to a minimum. No one was home. it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. The attic was foggy from dust, and the fragrance of candles, old newspapers, and pine permeated the air. From the window a beam of light in the odd shape of an obelisk washed across the wooden floor and landed directly in the corner. Jade was drawn in that direction, not knowing why. She thought that the beam was pointing to something and forcing her to go investigate. She compliantly followed the orders of the beam. It was pointing directly to a spotted old blanket covering a piece of furniture. The blanket appeared to be hand knit. “All German girls know how to knit,” her grandma used to tell her. She lifted the blanket up by its tattered corners and removed it to expose an old rocking chair, charred on one side but still usable. She gently sat down in the rocking chair and positioned the shard of sunlight precisely between her feet and she began to rock. I wonder if this was the chai...
Our backs hunched over as we started lifting sustainable sandbags with our drained muscular arms onto a dark wooden shelf. The scorching sun heated up the unswept metal fence behind us. Our feet were burning as we stood on the blistering concrete floor. We were sweating from every inch of our dried out body’s. Looking around the isolated area the smell of freshly cut grass starts to fill up in the atmosphere. The crinkled brown autumn leaves abandoned the thin branches sticking out from the ancient oak tree stood in front of us. A mysterious slim figure approached us from the distance. As the strange shadow got closer to me I could see a velvet red knee high dress blowing in the wind; bright red lipstick on a slim face, it became clear to me that it was Curley’s wife! Her devilish eyes looked deep into our sole as she stroked silky, exotic hair with her perfectly painted, red finger nails. “Hey boys” she called. I looked away with no interest; Lennie followed my lead. Her face went from a cheery smile to a sulky frown and she bashfully strolled
By Alex Sanchez, “The God Box” tackles the issue of Christianity and homosexuality. The story is told through Paul/Pedro, a devoted high school senior who has dated his best friend Angie since middle school, and they're good together. They like singing in their church choir, and go to Bible club together. But enter Manuel, a charismatic and openly gay transfer student with a charming dose of humor. As they became friends, Manuel challenged traditional Christian beliefs and Paul’s views about himself by presenting a new but warmer perspective. A take that makes Paul struggle to suppress his “not so Christian” feelings, and begins to question his own sexuality: “How could I choose between my sexuality and my spirituality, two of the most important parts that made me whole?” (Sanchez 64).
Looking around the abandoned cottage, I spotted a lantern next to the door hanging on a hook. I took out my lighter and lit it up, grabbing it off the hook. I held it in front of me at a distance so I could the rest of the room. It was a ugly green colored room, the wallpaper was peeling off the wall; most of it had already come off. The furniture covered in plastic.
I sipped slowly on a cup of hot chocolate after the sun set, and pondered in my head what my first activity might be when I woke up in the morning. Should I build an impenetrable snow fort inspired by images of Minas Tirith? Or perhaps amass a pile of snowballs to use for the inevitable war that I would start with my sister. Quickly I became distracted by the beautiful, handcrafted wood which formed the dwelling. The rich orange and distressed brown mixed perfectly to create something so easy on the eyes, I had difficulty comprehending how it came to be. The smooth and flawless texture led me to run a hand over to test for splinters. The smell of the wood was intertwining with smells from the fireplace, the kitchen and my cup of hot chocolate. All of these sensations came together to form a feeling of tenderness, akin to a mother’s embrace. I never wanted to return back home. I had discovered a place so perfect, so inviting and peaceful, I vowed to never return to the familiarity of home. This was only the first day with vastly more to look forward
Once we conquered the spiders and climb over the massive piles of boxes, we open the spring loaded door and the smell of coffee and burning wood rushes over us. As we entered the living room we traveled back in time, to an old yet still messy Victorian house. In front of the door the floor is tile; four or five of the tiles are broken where my Papa dropped a hammer years ago. As we move deeper into the living room the floor changes to a gray carpet with yellow and brown stains in many different places. The big windows are draped with large lacey curtains and doilies surround the coffee table and all the sides' tables. We bounce down on a blue floral couch and set our stuff on the oak wood coffee table that is less than ten inches from our shins. Beneath this table there are golden po...
I resided deep within a wooded glen in this modest chalet. It served one denizen and perhaps a visitor. The floral wallpaper was faded, torn and warped. The dusty floor was constructed of uneven planks that whined and bent when pressure was applied. The furniture was minimal and simple. There was a twin mattress raised upon a metal structure and a long wooden table with a single chair. At one end, the table was blotched with red stains and scratches along the edges. The kitchen held a small stove and a cracked wooden counter was a large worn dinner plate and fine cutlery.
A knock at the door startled her out of concentration on her new art piece. Johnsy placed her art supplies on the table next to her and began to walk to the door, while the old wooden floors squeak at every step. The door handle rusted almost to the point it could not turn, she opened the door to an old friend.
I saw her walk over to the dressing table. I watched her appear in the circular glass of the mirror looking at me now at the end of a back and forth of mathematical light. I watched her keep on looking at me with her great hot-coal eyes: looking at me while she opened the little box covered with pink mother of pearl. I saw her powder her nose. When she finished, she closed the box, stood up again, and walked over to the lamp once more, saying: "I'm afraid that someone is dreaming about this room and revealing my secrets." And over the flame she held the same long and tremulous hand that she had been warming before sitting down at the mirror. And she said: "You don't feel the cold." And I said to her: "Sometimes." And she said to me: "You must feel it now." And then I understood why I couldn't have been alone in the seat. It was the cold that had been giving me the certainty of my solitude. "Now I feel it," I said. "And it's strange because the night is quiet. Maybe the sheet fell off." She didn't answer. Again she began to move toward the mirror and I turned again in the chair, keeping my back to her.
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Watching the window not knowing why she tossed and turned feeling an uneasiness that she could not shake. The thunder rumbled softly and the lightning on the horizon flashed light across the bedroom walls. The wind began to whistle loudly around the log home. Jenny felt uneasiness, and softly reached to touch the shoulder of Blade. Not awakening him she decided to slip quietly out of bed to peek in the distance of the upcoming tragedy that she never thought would happen. As she moved sleathfully around the house, the windows seemed to rattle an alarm. The wind now not only whistled but wailed in the surrounding pine woods. Not knowing what to do Jenny sat in the living room window searching for a tragedy she felt was about to con some her life
“I’m pleased that you could make it. I have made an invention that I hope you will like. You just turn this crank connected to the wheel and you will soon see sparks and...” Marie stopped. The whole room was filled with laughter. She gave a confused look. “What is it?” suddenly she gasped. A few of her curls had come out from underneath the wig. Marie, red faced, tore off the wig and ran to her room. When she came out the crowd was gone, but the pillows seemed to still shake with laughter and boos. She stormed out of the building and bumped into every person she pass, because she couldn’t see passed the wall of tears in her eyes, begging to come out. But she wouldn’t cry. She never had, and she wasn’t going to give in now. But she couldn’t bear it anymore. She let only a few tears stream down her face, which was still flushed with
The cabin is very still save for her rocking and the flickering red flame in the fireplace. I pluck a leather-bound book from the wooden shelf and sit at my desk. The white square of window fades to black. She stays there nonetheless—rocking, rocking, eyes fixed on something somewhere in the impenetrable darkness. I light my oil lamp, layering shadows across the walls. I pull out a well of ink and my quill pen.
Today was Tory’s funeral. It was the first time walking in her room for about a month. I have tried to stay away from it as long as I could, yet today I felt like I needed to go in there. The pale purple walls made me gasp as my eyes started to tear up. My fingertips slid across the walls and a little dust gathers since know one has been in there. The wooden floors creaked as I walk over to her twin bed. I sat on her bed and stared at the pictures on the walls that were of Tory and I then lay flat back on her bed to see the dangling butterflies hanging from the ceiling fan. I reach over to the left at me and grab Tory’s build a
The sounds of laughter echoed around the living room and the smell of sweet potatoes, dressing, chitterlings, and turnip greens filled the air. The living room walls were white and red curtains were hanging in front of the window seals. The fire place had black coal around the edges of brown brick that formed from burning short days and long nights. I could hear my little cousins’ feet hitting the brown and shiny hardwood floor as they ran to the kitchen. Their laughter echoed around the dense hallway, and those sounds reminded me that I had the longest day ahead of me. I rolled out of bed and stared at the reflection of myself and let out a deep sigh. As my feet rubbed against
It was witching hour. The female’s heavy breathing was breaking the silence of the night. She could hear the thundering, rambunctious footsteps of the lingering creature. Trying to be as silent as the darkness, she laid awake. Eyes wide open, praying to the gods that she’d make it through the night. Suddenly, she felt something lay gently on her shoulder. Her eyes enlarged, for her daughter’s hands were not that massive. She rolled over. A piercing scream disturbed the whole village.